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?B|> S>erapl) JWaltbic Sean 
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^i)omai ^oiit) Co. 
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Copyright 19x4 

by 

Seraph Maltbie Dean 



urn II 1914 



i 



C!,A370937 



Wilbin^S 



' Ye field flowers ! the gardens 

eclipse you, 'tis true, 
Yet wildings of Nature, I 
dote upon you." 

— Campbeli 



a CaU from tlje l^ilbtoooii 

A VOICE I hear, and it seems to say, 
"Come forth to the woodland, come this 
day; 
JFor we are waiting, comrade true, 
Your presence here, we are waiting you, 
And fain would now your footsteps hear 
In our wildwood home; — come quickly, dear! 
The flowers awaken and call for you, 
The birds are trilling old songs and new. 
Your heart is with us — away, away; 

linger not, list the call of May ! " 

DEAR Woodland Spirit, I fast am bound, 
For walls of brick close me around; 

1 cannot heed your call, return 

To your wildwood haunts mid flower and fern. 

I will dream of you through the gladsome spring, 

As I catch the sweet notes echoing 

From that mystic place where you abide 

Remote from the noisy, hurrying tide 

Of busy life. Here I must stay 

Though my heart is with you, call not, pray ! 

« A H, say not so, the heart is not bound 
xTl Whatever the walls that close it round; 
In these joyous days no power can hold 
You from joining us in the flowering wold. 
Earth's pulse is throbbing, and with each breeze 
Leaflets are dancing on the trees; 



a Can from tfie IS^illrUJoolr 

Many the voices that call you, dear, 
I speak for them and you hear, you hear! 
With Spring in the heart you cannot stay; — 
To our wildwood haunts away, away! " 

S. M. D. 



a Preatfi from tfie 3|iHs; 

A BREATH of sweetness from the far-off hills 
Came fluttering forth this morn, as I un- 
bound 
A box o'erflowing with arbutus buds. 
In the dear home-land, on a cliff which studs 
The brow of a steep hill, sweets, ye were found, 
And sent forth stored with perfumes which my 
spirit thrills. 

FOR with your odorous breath comes thought 
of days 
Long gone; days when upon those hills I sought 
The same sweet flowers, brushing with eager 

haste 
The dry leaves from the nooks, where, midst the 

waste, 
The shy buds nestled, hidden — as they thought — 
Securely from frost's blighting touch, and man's 

rude gaze. 



a Preatij from tlje Jlittg 

AH, little did they think their perfumed 
breath, 
Borne gently on the breezes, would betray 
Their lowly hiding place; as from the ground 
They gathered spicy odors only found 
In roots of pines and ferns, buried away 
For the new life of Spring which follows Winter's 
death. 



THUS with your rare, sweet breath memories 
arise 
Of friends beloved, who in those happy days 
Were with me as I climbed the rugged hills 
For the dear flowers; guided but by the rills 
Which fell from off the heights o'er stony waysj' 
Such time as snows were melting 'neath the 
sun's bright eyes. 

NO more together may we climb those hills! 
New homes and scenes are ours, while 

some even sleep 
As do the flowers. Blossoms too pure were they 
For earth's cold hills, and thus to Heaven's 

spring day 
Were soon transferred, their beauty there to 

keep 
Unfading on the sunny slope of those bright 

Hills. 



a JBreatl) from tfte JliUs; 

LINGER, sweet mountain breath, although 
t the bloom 
Fades from your flowers, for even our memories 
Are hallowed now; and hidden close away 
Lie buds still sweet like yours, given me one day 
Long, long ago in pledge of love which is 
Fresher and dearer still than all your wild 
perfume. 

S. M. D. 



W^t purgeoning ^iUohijB( 

Go forth in the earliest days of Spring, 
When the pulse of life beats full and warm, 
You will find to the willow branches cling 
Soft silken buds, folded safe from harm. 

THEY are waiting to shake their catkins 
out 
To the glowing sun, but the brown scales keep 
Them snuggled close, while winds toss about 
The supple limbs where the willow-buds sleep. 

NOTHING can daunt the Spirit which dwells 
In these vigorous trees, for their life is 
found 
Not alone in the soil, but buds and swells 
In the region where light and air abound. 



^}|e Purgeonins WiVio\^^ 

THEY scorn to die, so wherever they are 
Will burgeon forth at the call of Spring, 
Tossing their pollen and downy seed far 
From the shining boughs where the catkins 



SHOULD one cut the limbs, and the great 
trunks burn. 
The severed branches still send forth shoots, 
While down to the loam with speed they turn 
To find a place for their spreading roots. 

THUS, pulsing with life and its boundless 
cheer, 
The willows spread out their arms to the sun, 
As the Easter morning dawns on the year 
With Immortal Life and its peace begun. 

S. M. D. 



tCIje VioltV^ jHisitafee 

I AM so tired of lying here," 
A Johnny- Jump-Up said; 
"I will arise, for skies are clear 

And heavy is this spread 
Of brown old leaves, — I must jump out, 
For it is time, without a doubt." 



AND so he threw away his cap 
That kept his head so warm, 
And crept from Mother Earth's soft lap. 

Where he lay safe from harm, 
Into the light of the bright sun 
Where March was fooling every one. 



HE now felt sure that he could boast, 
The very first to be 
Of all the Johnny- Jump-Up host — 

Of violet pedigree — 
To show the world what a fine thing 
It is to rise early in Spring. 

AND then he thought how very queer 
That violets should be 
So lazy when the sun shone clear. 

And birds sang merrily; 
He surely had much better taste 
Than thus his precious time to waste. 



HE saw the pussy willows nod 
At him their furry heads, 
And jumped to greet them from the sod 

Of the sweet violet beds 
Until the daylight changed to night, 
Then Johnny grew quite stiff with fright; 

AND tried to hide his little face 
Once more in the warm leaves, 
Which lay within the cozy place 

Beneath the woodland trees, 
Where Mother Nature safe doth keep 
Her dainty buds while they're asleep. 

BUT it was cold, and the wind blew 
So wildly overhead 
Poor Johnny shivered through and through. 

Till he was nearly dead 
With fear and grief that he must stay 
All the long nights fro'm home away; 

AND whispered to the violets 
Tucked safely in their nest, 
To keep quite still, for one who frets 

To go forth on a quest 
After the Spring, would better take 
Care lest he make a sad mistake. 

S. M. D. 



at Hober's; ^lea 



MOST winsome lassie beneath the skies, 
You are standing near with roguish eyes 

On this frowning morn; 
And whether you laugh, or whether you weep 
I care not, if you but closer creep 

To the lover lorn 
Who has waited months for your return, 
The while in his heart love's fires did burn 

Which you kindled there 

Without thought or care. 

BE not so cold and shy then, love, 
Come nearer my faithfulness to prove 

On this fog-bound day; 
We will hand in hand go forth to the wold 
That downy ferns may their fronds unfold 

Without delay. 
You shall kiss the buds until gay flowers 
Awaken to smile amidst the showers; 

Sweet April draw near, 

I am waiting, dear. 

THE birds are singing for love of you. 
The grasses are greening this day anew, 
And the trees unfold 
For you the buds which have long been closed, 
While on the swaying branches they dozed 

Through the winter's cold. 
The wayside pools, the forest, the glade, 



a TLo\}tf^ ^lea 



Resound with praises of you, dear maid; 
Winging and singing 
The joy you are bringing. 

THEN be not shy I pray you, dear. 
But closer draw and your fair brow clear, 
For the sky is gray 
When all should be brightness, and joy, and 

bliss, 
On a morning as late in the Spring as this; — 

Then whisper not, "Nay," 
But listen once more to your lover's plea 
And haste with your witching grace and glee 
To warm his heart 
By love's magic art. 

S. M. D. 



tEibe Habp in (golb 

WHEN mortals lament because that the 
skies 
Are scattering crystals of snow 
Where bright, starry blossoms should open their 
eyes. 
To set all the meadows aglow; 
They forget the fair lady — the Lady in Gold 
Who cares not for sleet, and fears not the cold. 



OPENING her bells that are golden in hue, 
She tosses them forth on the air 
To chime of a Spring which is long overdue, 

And bid Winter make haste to his lair. 
Then give royal welcome to April's bright 

queen, — 
The Lady in Gold amidst fresh, living green. 

SHE is rugged and bold, and bears her gay 
flowers 
With a careless and lithesome grace 
Upon her green branches, midst sunshine or 
showers, 
Wherever one gives her a place. 
Do you ask, then, the name of this bell flower? 

Behold, 
Some call her Forsythia — we Lady in Gold! 

S. M. D. 



Cfiilbren of ttje 3Rocfe 

STANDING uplift on a wide-spreading plain 
Is a mount of jagged rock, 
Tossed thither long since in the glacier's reign, 
Or by force of some earthquake shock. 



LIKE a mail-clad giant it stands alone 
As year after year grows old, 
And through the long winters this mount of 
stone 
Is desolate, bleak, and cold. 

BUT the storm-furrowed boulder has a heart 
Hidden deep within its breast, 
Which is stirred to life by the Spring's weird art 
Till it pulses to its crest. 

THEN forth from those fissures where moss 
and leaves 
Have been buried ages long, 
Shy little buds with their green-capped sheathes 
Come rushing, a starry throng. 

SOME are white as the snow, with roots 
blood-red. 
And others like April skies, 
For where the hepatica's bronzed leaves spread 
Gleam changeful blue-gray eyes. 



Cftilbren of tfte 3^ocfe 

DICENTRA'S white plume, and the saxi- 
frage's cyme, 
Nod to the adder-tongue bells 
Which swing 'neath the rocks and merrily chime 
To waken the flowers in the dells. 

UNDER brown, withered leaves lie trailing 
vines 
Of the arbutus' living green, 
Where nestle buds filled with odorous wines, 
Distilled in caverns unseen 

FROM the rootlets of pines and shrubs, which 
yield 
A perfume subtle and rare 
When brewed in those depths where rocks close 
shield 
Their vapors from wind and air. 

ONE by one those blossoms of light arouse 
Which have home in this great Rock, 
And creep from their cloisters out on its brows — 
A bright-eyed, sunny-faced flock. 

THESE children that smile on the Rock for 
a space. 
When wooed by the showers and the sun. 
Will gently fall back to their warm, sheltered 
place 
After their sweet work is done. 



Cfjilbren of tfte 3Rocfe 

AND children of Earth, shall they not fill their 
place, 
When called by God to the light. 
As cheerfully, smilingly, and with the grace 
Of flowers that last but a night? 

S. M. D. 



^0 aprti 

AND dost thou ask, coquettish child of 
Spring, 
Why I love thee? The bird upon the wing 
Carols this day his sweetest notes of praise. 
Nor tells thee why. The bud doth shyly raise 
Its fresh young face unto thy changeful sky 
With strangely winsome grace, but tells not 
why 

It loveth thee. 

THE brooklet trills its notes as sweet and 
clear 
As bird or child —now far away, now near — 
And the soft rain which patters on thy face 
Hath voice suited unto these days of grace. 
All Nature whispers, through her mystic art. 
The love which burns for thee deep in her heart, 
Nor telleth why. 



«3 



Co ^prtl 



I ONLY know my heart doth quicker beat 
When thou art near. The thought is strangely 
sweet, 
But why my pulse throbs with new life at sight 
Of thee I cannot tell. Accept love as thy right, 
For if thy suitors — buds, and streams, and 

birds — 
May not express their love for thee in words, 
Pray why should I? 



I LEARNED to love thee in the long ago 
When life was young, and thou didst round 
me strew 
The pink arbutus buds, with breath more sweet 
Than other blossoms growing at thy feet; 
When blue-eyed violets looked up at me 
From sunny nooks, and white anemone, 
Amidst the green 



OF downy fern fronds, shook their heads, 
with plea; — 
" touch us not, blossoms as frail as we 
Grow but for fairies; mortal hands are rude 
And mar the beauties of the solitude." 
The snowy shad blooms filled your tangled hair, 
And, April dear, thou wert then always fair, — 
I knew not why. 



Zo ^pril 



I LOVE thee still, for midst thy frowning 
skies, 
Sweet, willful child, thou canst not keep thine 

eyes 
From laughing at me through the raindrop 

tears; 
Thus, spite of all your moods I have no fears, 
So happy am I knowing thou art near; 
But may not tell the precious secret, dear, 
Why I love thee. 

S. M. D. 



tKfje Preatf) a! <gab 

GOD'S gentle breathings are the flowers; 
Each lily, rose, and violet, 
Wooed by the sunshine and the showers, 
Is with His fragrant impress set. 

IF lost from earth were all these flowers, 
Should we not miss that precious breath? 
The days would have far darker hours, 
And added were the pangs of death. 

PRIZE then more highly the dear flowers. 
For is the thought not marvelous 
That everywhere midst perfumed bowers 
The breath of God doth compass us? 

L. P. D. 
15 



SCfje Jf loralia 



A May Day Festival 

' Ye blessed Creatures, I have heard 
the call 
Ye to each other make ; I see 
The heavens laugh with you in your 
jubilee ; 
My heart is at your festival, 
My head hath its coronal, 
The fulness of your bliss, I feel — I 
feel it all. 
Oh evil day ! If I were sullen 
■While Earth herself is adorning 
This sweet May morning." 

— Wordsworth 



' T 1ST, Nymphs, and heed the call 
i-^ Which Echo's voice will far and wide 
Send bounding over hills, to fall 
Low in the grotto where ye bide! 
Winds are hushed and skies are clear; 
Rouse, rouse ye all, the time is here 
For your loved Queen, gay Flora, and the Hours 
To carnival with you amidst the flowers ! " 
Thus saying, Rheos his bright bugle blew 
Until the echoes rolled from hill to hill — 
And softly died. Then on swift wing he flew 
Afar to do the regal Flora's will, 
For she, as morning's Star led in the day. 
Had risen in eager haste to rouse the sleeping 
May. 



tEfje jFloralia 



I— 2 

ALL the night her cheek had prest 
The pale arbutus buds, that hue 
Of rosiest pink might on them rest; 
The while her breath did deep imbue 
Them with the odors that are found 
In buds of pine and mosses of the ground- 
Fragrance so rare one by it soon may trace 
The shy flowers to their hiding place. 
She touched the leafy beds where clustering 

grow 
Hepatica and frail anemone, 
With violets of shades so pale we know 
None but sylvestral depths their beauty see. " 
These, sweetest of spring flowers, from their 

long drowse 
Did Flora, springing from her sylvan couch, 

first rouse. 



I.-3 

GAILY then forth she trod 
With lightsome step and song. 
Stooping to kiss those buds she held most dear; 
And as she moved along 
Greener became the sod, 
While all around her blossoms did appear. 
Whene'er she stooped her sunny curls 
Swept the ground and golden stars 



17 



ZClje jFloralia 

sprang from the soil — for her least touch un- 
bars 
The frosty fetters, and the leaf unfurls. 
She brushed the budded boughs along her way 
And the closed flowerets, with a throb and start 
Of glad surprise, looked forth upon the day; 
While those she kissed — in token of her art — 
Opened their eyes and caught the dyes 
Hidden within her own so blue; — 
For power so strange sweet Flora knows 
Buds at her touch take rarest hue. 
Moreover, where her robe swept the moist 

ground 
Were beds of whitest bloom and sweetest per- 
fumes found. 

II.— I 

NATURE'S garden thus abloom 
The fair Queen backward dancing sped 
Unto the forest, to resume 
Her fairy work and blossoms spread. 
Newly robed in green the trees 
Shook forth their tender leaves with every 

breeze. 
Save where the fir and glossy hemlock reared 
Their sombre heads, and strangely peered 
Down at the festive scene, much as a sire 
Looks at his sporting children in surprise 
That of their pastimes they do never tire, 

x8 



tClje Jf loralia 



Nor unto loftier thoughts and pleasures rise. 
But Flora labored on without a thought 
Of the dark trees above while bowers she gaily 
wrought. 

II.— 2 

BROOKLETS gave their freshest moss 
The rocky seats to carpet well, 
And of rare ferns there was no loss, 
Nor violets from out the dell. 
Drooping vines the glade soon made 
A place of beauty and luxuriant shade, 
While the green turf with blooming flowers 

spread 
Formed a mosaic none but fairies tread. 
The lilies swung their golden censers low 
Until the violet's perfumed breath they met, 
And round the rock-built throne waved to and 

fro 
Great boughs of snowy bloom with dewdrops 

set. 
The Goddess viewed her work with smiling face. 
For she had roused the May, and decked the 

wold with grace. 

n.-3 

AT last the day is past. 
And now the stars are out 
And the moon's crescent swings within the sky! 

19 



tElje Jf loralja 



The fire-flies throw about 

The bowers with blossoms massed 

Their fitful lights, as once more, clear and high, 

The bugle sounds its joyous note. 

Then wildwood Nymphs, who all day long have 

sought 
The honied nectar which is only wrought 
From sweetest flowers, assemble while doth 

float 
Upon the air soft, thrilling strains; — for once 

each year 
The birds sing through the night as through the 

day, 
The while these woodland spirits feast and play. 
With merry jest each fairy guest 
Flits through the glade, nor mortal care. 
Nor jealous rivalry doth know; 
For Nymphs, as free as birds in air. 
Esteem this day of all the days most dear 
In which they greet the May — fairest child of 

the year. 

S. M. D. 

JBaiiohilsi 

Now that longer are days, and the sun more 
bright. 
There doth gleam again in the shining light 
Fair daffodils; 



Wearing on their petals the golden hue 
Of the morning sun, as the sparkling dew 
Each gay cup fills; 
And midst sheathes of green 
Will this radiant queen 
Nod and smile, when she hears the voice of rills 
Singing songs of welcome on the hills 
To daffodils. 

WE are told in beauty unknown to earth 
Bloom flowers like these, — but of last- 
ing worth, — 

Called Asphodels. 
Are they sisters, think you, in their strange^ 

bloom, 
To these buds which spring from earth's gray 
tomb 

As daffodils? 

S. M. D. 



Spring's; tlreasfure 3|ou£^e 

JEWEL-LIKE blossoms in green settings rare 
Are sparkling with light in the soft May- 
day air; 
And how can one think of earth's silver and 

gold 
When the sun has for him such riches in hold? 



THE great gray-armed willows that stand 
by the stream 
Shake out furry catkins to catch its bright 

gleam, 
And then on those waters that lave their cold 

feet 
Toss blossoms of gold, — a fairylike fleet. 

STARRY anemone lift up their eyes 
Of silver-like bloom to the blue-vaulted 
skies, 
And the marshes with gold-cups are now all 

ablaze 
As marigolds turn toward the sunlight's bright 
rays. 

THE meadows' green billows with dandelions 
shine. 
While around them hedges of wild shrubs en- 
twine 
In a tangle of bloom, that is silvery-white 
As the sun at the mid-day glows warm and 
bright. 

TTTITH silver and gold free as sunlight and 

Surely one should know nothing of trouble or 

care; 
For riches like these mean vigor and cheer. 
And marvelous beauty when spring-tide is here. 



Spring's; tEreasfure ^ous(e 

FREE, free is the love that gilds the bud's 
bloom, 
And silvers the stars in Nature's great room; 
And this vista of glory spread out to the eye 
Is God's very heart let down from the sky. 

S. M. D. 

tCfje Horb of tfje jHap 

OVER field and bracken, wold and lawn, 
The One who rules the May 
Spreads forth his banner of light and shade, 

And frolics the livelong day 
Amidst leaves of green and blossoms fair; — 
For is he not Monarch of earth and air? 

THE lily bells hanging midst spires of green 
Ring out their May-day tune 
In merry notes, with a breath as sweet 

As roses of the June; ' 
Chiming all day long beneath the trees 
Their song of love to the sporting Breeze. 

THE lilac trees gaily shake out their plumes 
Of perfumed breath, and gleam 
With purple and with snowy blooms 

As the Breeze in soft caress 
Touches their heads, and whispers low 
Those words which mortals may not know. 

23 



3rf)e Horb of tfje iWa? 

THE blossoming shrubs and fruit trees 
spread 
The ground with petals rare, 
As the Breeze blows gently amidst their boughs 
, And tosses them on the air; 
For they love this gentle Lord of the May 
And breathe for him their life away. 

THE blue-eyed iris proudly lift 
Their queenly heads from thrones 
Of gray-green spathes, in marsh and pool, 

Nor heed the sighs and moans 
Of the lordly Breeze, as through the May 
He wooing goes in his own wild way. 

THE stately tulip when he flies by 
Looks up and nods the head, 
But it loves the sun and cares not whom 

The Breeze may woo or wed; 
It lives when the Sun- God bids it live, 
And to him alone doth homage give. 

THE ferns glance upward, and trembling 
wave 
Their fronds unto the Breeze, 
Then gently bow their curly heads 

Beneath the sheltering trees; 
And he laughs at them for being shy 
Of their lover liege, as he hurries by. 



CCfje larb of tfje jHap 

THUS he is busy the whole long day — 
This Monarch of the air — 
Filling all Nature's heart with a joy 

That mortals fain would share; 
So we yield to him this wondrous day 
That homage due the Lord of the May. 



S. M. D. 



tifje JilosfsJom's; \Joite 

MAY-DAY blossom, tell to me 
Whence the loveliness we see, 
Whence this whiteness of the snow 
Tinged with crimson's changeful glow? 
I would learn whence shrub and tree 
Hath received such purity. 

LISTEN, mortal, for I tell 
Of a Power which high doth dwell, 
And these blossoms that you see 
Fluttering on shrub and tree, 
Come forth from a loveliness 
No earth-voice can well express. 



25 



BEAUTY such as you now see 
In this crown of bloom, will be 
Magnified a million-fold 
When you Paradise behold; — 
For the home of beauty lies 
Just beyond you in the skies." 

L. P. D. 



tlije (Bib Hilac 

THE air is sweet with the perfumed breath 
Of the lilac's blooming sprays, 
And they gaily nod their regal heads 

As the breeze around them plays. 
Was ever a flower to the child more dear 
Than this rural queen of the early year? 



MY thought goes back unto childhood days, 
And I seem to stand once more 
With grandma beneath the dear old tree 

Shading the farmhouse door; 
And with lilac boughs my arms she fills 
While the robin a song of remonstrance trills. 

26 



5CJ)e ©lb TLiUt 



NEVER were flowers so fair as those 
To my wondering, eager eyes, 
And their nodding plumes of purple bloom 

Seemed made to tantalize; 
As standing on tiptoe I sought to grasp 
The tempting sprays in my childish clasp. 

THROUGH the long, bright days I watched 
the buds 
Turn pink midst the fresh green leaves, 
Till the birds grew used to my anxious gaze 

As they nested beneath the eaves; 
And twittered and sang the livelong day 
In the dear old tree, all the glad sweet May. 

STILL lavishly do the lilacs yield 
Their wealth of fragrant store. 
But that tree I loved has long been gone 

From its place beside the door; 
And that hand which my arms with blossoms 

filled 
Has for years, by the touch of death, been 
stilled. 

LITTLE hands reach out for the beautiful 
flowers 
Just as eagerly today, 
For youth and age to this fair May queen 



tlfje ©lb Hilac 

Have given their hearts away; 
Yet something I miss from their rare perfume 
That was stored for me in the old tree's bloom. 

S. M. D. 



tCfje jFlooii=t!Ciiie ot Ploom 

MONTHS rise and fall on the waves of the 
year 
Like crafts that are tossed by the tide, 
And bear in their holds for earth's circling 
sphere 
The hour-freighted days, as they glide; 
But one of the twelve, with sails white as snow, 
Brings treasure the rarest that months can 
bestow. 

AT flood-tide this flower-laden boat sails in 
To her harbor alongside earth, 
The freshest, bonniest month that has been 

Afloat since the days had their birth; 
Decked in wreathings of bloom, and spanglings 

of spray 
We crown her as queen, the beautiful May. 

28 



MOUNTAIN and valley swing out to the 
breeze 
Their pennons of fluttering green, 
And birds return to their homes in the trees 

To carol their songs midst the sheen 
Of fragrant blossoms that wondrously glow, 
When tossed by the winds, like driftings of 
snow. 

EVERYWHERE surges this flood-tide of 
bloom 
While the white-winged barge of the May 
Lies anchored secure within the great room 

Of the blue-domed, amber- tiled bay; 
All earth is astir, the heart of the sphere 
Throbs swiftly with life, for May now is here. 

ENTHRALLED by her presence raptly we 
gaze 
On the changeful lights, while the tide 
Of billowy bloom sweeps on through the days, 

And the sunbeams spread far and wide; 
But, watch as we may, the hour draweth near 
That will bear from our shores this one we 
hold dear. 

THE song-raptured birds would gladly delay 
This Queen of the Months, but their call 
She heeds not, and spreading her sails, away 

39 



Flies the beautiful May; thus all 
The freshness and grace she brought to earth's 

breast 
Is borne toward that shore where sunset clouds 
rest. 

S. M. D. 



S iWountain ©ueen 

FAIR Kalmia, Queen of New England, be- 
hold, 
As she dwells on the mountain-side rugged and 

bold, 
Midst the hemlock and cedar, the spruce and 

the pine 
Which guard the wild haunts where this Queen 
has her shrine! 

SHE is mantled in vestments of such won- 
drous green 
They bear the whole season a deep lustrous 

sheen; 
And when the bright dawning of summer draws 

near 
They are touched with a freshness of magical 
cheer. 



30 



^ iWountain (©ucen 

SHE is known far and wide for the vigorous 
grace 
With which she adorns every wild, rocky place, 
And her branches are twined into garlands of 

green 
All the year, until June crowns with blossoms 
this Queen. 

AND then in rare beauty and strength she 
defies 
The flowers of the valley, as she turns to the 

skies 
Her clustering stars, set in emerald boughs 
Of the laurel which covers her even to the^ 
brows. 

ALL hail to our Kalmia! Long may she 
reign 
On the hills of New England, though words are 

but vain 
To picture the beauty of this rustic Queen 
At the time of her crowning midst glistering 
green! 

S. M. D. 



31 



an Snbian 3^elic 

[Cypripedium Spectabile] 

A FLOWER there is that blooms alone 
■*^ On marshy bogs, remote, unknown, 
Because so wild and dark the place 
One thinks not there to find such grace. 



LONG time ago, a maiden wild 
Roved where this dainty blossom smiled, 
And left the print of her light tread 
Upon the orchid's spongy bed. 



HER quaintly slippered foot imprest, 
A flower unique upon earth's breast, 
And in that soil this blossom rare 
Has ever since been Nature's care. 



SAFELY it hides its curious bloom 
Within the cool and fragrant room 
Where ferns and wildings rampant grow — 
A place the fairy folk well know. 

WILL-0-THE-WISP and elfins bold,— 
Weird creatures of the tangled wold. 
With all their host of playmates gay 
There dance by night, and sleep by day. 



Sn Snbian Eelic 

LONG may'st thou dwell, fair wildwood 
queen, 
Within those shadowed glades unseen, 
Attended by the woodland sprites 
Throughout June's rare and glorious nights! 

MAY never grasping, ruthless hand 
Uproot thee from thy native land. 
As it has done that Indian maid 
Whose moccasin left you where she strayed. 

S. M. D. 



atSHJien tfje l&xi^ ^Blooms! 

THE skies of June from their azure height 
Look down on a wealth of blue 
In the lowland meadows, where strangely bright 

Gleam Iris of deepest hue. 
Whose masses of bloom spread out between 
The green-clad hills, with cerulean sheen. 

ONLY in June can these wondrous shades 
Of blue and green be found, 
While the Iris flaunts her flags in the glades, 

And the hills their arms surround 
With the deepest, freshest, loveliest green 
That ever mingles with blue serene. 

33 



TUNE'S every day may be fresh to the end, 

J But never again will bound 

As swiftly as now the currents which send 

Life throbbing throughout the ground; 
Bringing a series of changing views 
In matchless shadings of greens and blues. 

O HEART, take cheer these beauteous days 
In which bloom and fragrance rare 
Fill to the full the earth's wild ways 
With treasure that all may share! 
Life rushes on wings of light that earth 
May revel in hues of priceless worth. 

YOU must catch the joy that comes with life 
In its breathings full and deep, — 
You must find the beauty that now is rife 

In the flower-bud, would you reap 
Rarest fruit in the autumn-time; — 
Since life swift wings toward Life Sublime. 

S. M. D. 

JCfie Ctjamaelirium 

[Blazing Star] 

WITHIN a lowland pasture 
Where hidden springs deep flow, 
The Chamaelirium blossoms 
In their wild beauty grow. 

34 



®l)e Ctjamaelirium 

THESE wands of creamy whiteness 
Their fragrant censers swing, 
While bobolinks and thrushes 
Around them gaily sing. 

THE butterflies are winging 
About their graceful bloom, 
And insects seek the nectar 
Stored in each feathered plume. 

THEY flower amidst the grasses 
And tufts of hardy fern, 
Above the fairy orchids 

Whose hiding place we learn 

ONLY when the weird blossoms 
Flutter some fair June day 
Their .wings of rosy petals, — 
Like butterflies astray. 

THESE blazing stars of beauty, 
Which like the orchids shun 
The highways and the hedges 
Bloom here beneath the sun; 

AND bird and insect give them 
All homage that they crave. 
Nor care they that their flowrets 
Above the pastures wave. 



35 



tCfje Cfjamaelirium 

PRAY ruthless hand may never 
Tear from their quiet home 
These wilding beauties growing 
Within the miry loam. 

FOR flowers that bloom with nurture 
And tenderest care of thine, 
Bear not the print of Fingers 
So wondrously Divine. 

L. P. D. 



tKlje 3Bi0^t^ of June 

THERE are roses and roses today 
In the garden, and hedge by the way, 
And no flowers 'neath the skies do so fondly we 

prize 
For their beauty of bloom, and dainty perfume, 
As the roses we gather in June. 

CLAD in colors of marvelous hue, 
Touched by sunshine, and wet with the 
dew. 
They look up with a smile, breathing softly the 

while 
Their message benign to your heart and mine; — 
These roses, sweet roses of June. 



tCfje Eos(e£( of 3nnt 

BY the bloom and the beauty I see, 
By the fragrance they yield unto me, 
I am wafted away to a garden this day 
Where my grandmother stands, holding sprays 
in her hands 
Of roses the rarest of June. 

THERE are red ones, and yellow, and 
white. 
And the Damask — my heart's chief delight — 
Double and pink, with a perfume I think 
That is equaled by none, since it dwells in the 
one 
Sweetest rose of all roses of June. 

ARE there roses today yet more fair, 
With odors more dainty and rare? 
Perhaps it may be, yet I'm longing to see 
Those roses of yore at grandmother's door, 
Which blossomed for me in the June. 

S. M. D. 

Two little orchid sisters frail 
Dwell midst the ferns and grasses, 
One droops her head, is shy and pale, 

And one has fringing lashes 
Of rosiest bloom, and roguish face; — 
Both flowers of daintiest form and grace. 

37 



Visiter ]^losi9iom^ 

THESE lovely sisters, side by side, 
Bloom in the marshy places, 
And while the one her buds doth hide, 

The other boldly faces 
The eyes of June, wearing a hue 
As bright as rosebud ever knew. 

GAY Calopogon, beautiful. 
With dainty bearded petals! 
And sweet Pogonia, wonderful 
In folded pink-white sepals 
Which hold in store perfume so rare 
Few blossoms may with her compare! 

STILL blooming where these sisters are, 
Midst bogs and knotty rootlets. 
Is Chamaelirium's blazing star. 

With wands of creamy florets. 
While round the place a winging horde 
Are seeking treasure in them stored. 



AND this they scatter as they fly 
From one gay orchid flower 
Unto its sister, nestling by 

With sweets that overpower 
The fair one's grace — so full her cup 
Of golden nectar which they sup. 



38 



Visiter i@lo!S(£(omfi( 

LIKE mortal thus are bird and bee; — 
Attracted now by beauty 
Of the bright blossoms which they see, 

And now from sense of duty 
They fly toward honey-laden flowers 
To gather store for future hours. 

THUS may we, Orchid sisters twain, 
Discern in your rare beauty 
And cups of ripened pollen grain, 
That the sweetest form of duty 
Is but to scatter midst our days 
Store to enrich earth's barren ways. 

S. M. 



la l^n^tic ^ttieetfjeart 

MY sweetheart I would show to you 
As she stands beside the way, 
With her soft cheeks flushed a roseate hue. 
And breath as fresh as the May. 

YOU will find no other maid more fair, 
Nor one whose starry eyes 
Look up through the mists of the morning air 
With purer light to the skies. 



39 



9 Ku^^tic ^tueetfjeart 

FROM her humble home she doth not shrink, 
And how can I forget 
The smiling face of my wayside pink — 
Sweet, sturdy Boiincing Bet? 

S. M. D. 



Put for a ISaj> 

A BEAUTIFUL lily of snow-white sheen 
Lifts its chalice of fragrance from depths 
of green 
In the cool of the morning, and just for a day 
Looks up at the sunlight, then passes away. 

FOR only a day is this gentle queen 
Among the fair lilies of summer seen, 
Then soft as the snowflake melts in the light 
Of the sun's bright beams, fades the flower from 
sight. 

BUT for a day doth its pearly whiteness 
Perfume the breath of summer's brightness; 
But for a day, yet its bloom brings gladness 
And cheer to the heart that knows pain and 
sadness. 



put for a Bap 

So for a day do the pleasures of life 
Like blossoming lilies endure midst the 
strife 
Of coming and going, of sorrow and pain, 
Of struggle and triumph, of loss and of gain. 

BUT is it not precious that life for a day 
Is given to blossoms along the rough way; 
Since beauty and fragrance are strength to the 

soul 
That is pressing forever toward Life's highest 
goal? 

S. M. D. . 



CaujSe anb Cffect 

ANGELS of Light in streams of pearl 
Dipped their bright wings, and with swift 
whirl 
Downward toward Earth then quickly threw 
The spray, as shining dew. 

IT roused to life a myriad flowers. 
And freshened Earth's long waiting bowers, 
Creating by its cool caress 
Enchanting loveliness. 



CaujJe anb €ffect 

LIKE rainbow and auroral flush, 
And like the evening's fairest blush, 
Like sunbeam of the golden hour, 
Gleamed then each smiling flower, — 

IN red and yellow, white and blue. 
Of every shade and every hue, — 
With breath of sweetness softly blown 
From realms of the unknown. 

DO these fair blossoms of the earth 
Receive with joy from heaven their birth; 
Vf hile we, like creatures of God's hand, 
Refuse to understand 

THAT life and beauty, hope and love. 
Come from the home of life above. 
And are as much the soul's birthright 
As wisdom, skill, or might? 

L. P. D. 



WLmhtxtvsi 

THERE were found in the gardens of long 
ago 
Blossoms more rugged than many we know; 
And still these are rambling about at their will 
Over highway and hedgerow, valley and hill. 



They are flowers which our grandmothers 

planted with care 
In the soil of New £ngiand, — and counted as 

rare. 



THROUGHOUT the whole breadth of this 
rock-studded room 
They are scattering today their wealth of gay 

bloom; 
Wreathing its ceilings and rough granite doors 
With garlands of beauty, and spreading its 

floors 
With masses of color; — mosaics which grace 
The roughest and wildest and rockiest place. 

WE call these fair wanderers by names that 
they knew 
In those far-away days; -7- for bee-balm and rue, 
Larkspur and lavender, Bethlehem's-star, 
Columbine, lily, and briar-rose are 
Yet found in our borders, by wayside, or stream, 
With hues that well vie with the prism's bright 
gleam. 

OLD-FASHIONED we call them, wanderers 
from home 
In those Puritan gardens they were given to 
roam; 

43 



But should we not prize them, these fair, rugged 

weeds 
That smile in our faces, whatever the creeds 
Which have sprung up with them in this rough, 

rocky soil? — 
God save these loved blossoms to brighten our 

toil! 

S. M. D. 



iBItte anb (@alb 

BRIGHTLY the asters nod and smile 
At the golden-rod over the way 
Of dazzling hue 
As in the breezes they lightly sway 
And flutter their plumes the livelong day; 
For the sky drops down to the earth awhile 

Its gold and blue. 
Ere the fairy builders from Frost-Land come 
To rear in each flowret an ice-capped dome. 

THE blue and the gold, the blue and the 
gold 
Of a wonderful love and power 

Let down to us 
From the heights above, in this autumn hour, 
To tinge for a space the sweet wild flower 

44 



|@lue anb <goIb 



With shades of azure and gleanings of gold 

Most marvelous! 
Ere the fairy builders from Frost-Land come 
To rear in each flowret an ice-capped dome. 

S. M. D. 



September plosJgomg 

THE nodding weeds and blossoms by the 
way 
Are strangely fair this bright September day, 
And shimmer in the sunbeams that swift glide 
Over the hills, and through the valleys wide; 
For now they don that gay and beauteous dress 
Which only in the autumn they possess. 

PURPLING the hillside are the clustering 
stars 
Of royal asters, while within the bars 
Upon the rowen fields Pamassia rears 
Her cream-white flowers amidst the shining 

spears 
Of living green; and low down at her feet 
Lie snowy ladies' tresses, strangely sweet. 



45 



THE golden-rod shake out their yellow 
plumes 
Beside the road and in the pasture rooms, 
Ablaze with light; while the sky's brightest blue 
Is now reflected in the deep, clear hue 
Of the lobelias, as erect they stand 
In the moist soil,— a cheery, bright-eyed band. 



BESIDE the road, their faces veiled from 
sight. 
See balmony, fair nuns with hoods of white, 
And stately cardinals watching here and there 
Along the way beside the sisters fair. 
Arrayed in scarlet of a rarer hue 
Than robe of mortal's weaving ever knew. 



ALONG the shaded pools, midst rushes 
green, — 
Where late the silvery arrow-heads were seen, 
And climbing hemp weed with its rosy blooms, — 
Now twines the clematis over tawny plumes 
Of the red trumpet flower, while pale knot- 
weeds 
Spread out their graceful heads among the 
reeds. 



46 



September JSIo^siams; 

THE lily-pads and flags catch the bright 
glow, 
The typha sways its brown heads to and fro 
In the light breeze, and flitting everywhere 
Are butterflies —gay blossoms of the air, — 
While in the grasses deep the crickets croon 
Their cheery notes the whole glad afternoon. 

I WONDER if the spirits of the flowers 
Grow brighter in these early autumn hours 
Because they catch the beauty and the glow 
Of far-off skies, where seasons never know 
The blight of winter. Be this as it may, 
Soul, thou should'st brighter grow each autumn 
day! 

S. M. D. 



Wo tfte CIo£feli (gentian 

PRAY, gentian, tell me why it is 
Your buds are not unfolding, 
For though arrayed in richest blue 
You shun all eyes beholding! 

NO other buds of brighter tint 
Are by the way appearing, 
And gladly do we welcome you, 
So restful and so cheering. 



47 



3Co tlje ClojJeii Gentian 

THE pigments of the vault above 
Were borrowed for your dyeing, 
So now with skies your clustered buds 
Are in their colors vying. 

YOUR sisters with their deep-fringed lids 
Not far away are standing, 
And yet they open wide their eyes 
At Autumn's chill commanding. 

THEY smile and nod as the rough winds 
Shake the bright leaves around them, 
Nor fear the frost, however cold 
The hand he lays upon them. 

OPEN your eyes and look around. 
Mysteries are unfolding. 
These are the days most wondrous fair 
Of all the year's beholding! 

SKY, field, and hill such beauty wear 
They every heart must capture; 
No eye should close these autumn days. 
But watch the earth's deep rapture. 

YET midst the bright and changeful lights 
Which now our eyes are viewing. 
No hue is lovelier than your buds, 
God-given, like heaven's own blueing. 

L. P. D. 

48 



Co tije Jf n'ngeli Gentian 

FAIR blossom of the field, now autumn's 
breath 
Blows chill from off the purple hills, and death 
Lays thy loved sisters low; thine eyes of blue 
Look through their fringes, white with frozen 

dew, 
Up to the skies which in the mornings cold 
Send messages to earth on beams of gold. 

AND those sweet messages I pray thee tell 
To me, bright blossom that I love so well; 
For, looking in thine eyes so deeply blue, 
I feel thou art of flowers most brave and true. 
And I would learn from thee; wilt thou not 

share 
The occult wisdom of the sky and air? 

EARTH is most wondrous fair these autumn 
days. 
Yet one can never lift the veil of haze 
That hides her face. Reflected in thine eyes 
Alone I see the brightness of the skies; 
Then, happy blossom, tell this day to me 
The secrets which the sunbeams bring to thee. 

"TTRUST on, though skies may not be always 

1 blue, 
And clouds shut out the sunlight from your 
view ; " 



®o tf)E Jf rmseti (gentian 

Is whispered low. "They who will watch for 

clouds 
Shall find them, for Doubt's sable mantle 

shrouds 
The heart that doth not look to heaven for 

cheer; — 
Turning toward Light, you sunbeam voices 

hear." 

S. M. D. 



^ptrantt)es; 

[Ladies' Tresses] 

FAIR, snowy orchid, when the cool bright 
days 
Of early autumn come, again we find 
Thee by the wayside, hiding from the wind 
In the deep grass thy strangely beauteous 
sprays. 

WITH spiral grace and beauty close are 
wound 
Thy pearly buds, fitting for lady fair 
To dress her locks, as any jewel rare 
Which she may find, search even the world 
around. 



50 



i 



^pivmti)ti 



WHEN wet with morning dews thy blos- 
soms shine 
Like frosted silver illumed by the sun, 
While breath as sweet as may-flowers fills each 

one 
Of all the tiny nectar cups they shrine. 

MORE daring art thou than thy sisters shy, 
Since all have left us, and thy florets pure 
Should'st teach that we, too, are secure 
Beneath Heaven's sheltering love and watchful 
eye! 

S. M. D. - 

Si& in a Bream 

I STAND upon the hill this autumn day 
And watch the shadows as they lightly play 
Amid the leaves upon the trees, 
And float about the mountain's purple crest 
Beneath the shining cloudlets of the west; 
And earth doth seem as in a dream. 

THE gaily-painted blossoms by the path. 
Spread wide their petals for that aftermath 
Of heat and light which follows night 
Of early frost, rustling their tarnished heads 
Of gold and purple, while the sunlight spreads 
Its short-lived beam athwart the dream. 



^s; m a Bream 

THE burnished trees within the woodland 
glow 
In crimson's varied hues, and brooklets flow 
Down the steep hills with gurgling trills 
Of happy music, now that rains renew 
Their hidden springs, hurrying as if they knew 
The frost's chill gleam must mar this dream. 

I WATCH the beauty that will soon be sere— 
This matchless pageant of the fading year — 
Amidst the haze of violet rays. 
And wonder why each leaf, and blade, and flower 
Rejoices thus at its funereal hour, 

When earth doth seem as in a dream. 

TURNING, I look toward the far western 
gate 
Where mysteries, like sunset billows, wait; 

And feel the thrill of joys which will 
Some wondrous day unfold themselves to me 
Beyond the mazes of heaven's golden sea. 
And not then seem, as now, a dream. 

S. M. D. 



52 



tlTfie Secret 

THE handful of blossoms I gathered just 
now 
In the meadow, are smiling at me 
With bright starry eyes, as if questioning how 
I happened their beauty to see. 



THE air is so balmy, the sun is so bright. 
They dream not that summer has fled 
And frost is now hovering with wings snowy 
white 
Above their gay flower-spangled bed. 

SWEET wildings, tell me, do you never 
fear 
The day that will blight your fresh bloom? 
Is your faith so secure in a blessed new year 
That you dread not the winter of gloom? 

YOUR secret pray whisper, for I would be 
brave 
And trustful in life's darkest hour; — 
List! "Nor winter of death, nor chill of the 
grave, 
Can the Blossom of Life overpower." 

S. M. D. 



S3 



autumn*^ JJribe 

THE Violet, roused by the Spring's soft kiss, 
Opens wide her wondering eyes, 
And filled with gladness akin to bliss 

Looks up to the sunny skies; 
Then her heart goes forth to the wooing Spring, 
And close to his side she doth fondly cling. 

THE Rosebud, hidden low down in the cup 
Of the calyx fresh and green, 
At the Summer's touch looks sweetly up 
Through the morning's dew and sheen; 
And her flushed cheek tells what she may not 

speak, 
As her lover's breath is on her cheek. 



BUT for Autumn, King of the Year, there 
waits 
A maiden stately and fair, 
Whose vigor and grace quickly captivates 

This monarch of field and air; 
For she feareth neither the Storm Fiend's power 
Nor the Hoar Frost's touch, in her sheltered 
bower. 



54 



autumn's; IRxiht 

OFT times is her garb the roseate hue 
Of clouds touched by sunset rays, 
Or golden as light when it flickers through 

The trees midst the purple haze; 
Sometimes like the leaves of russet brown, — 
Again pure as snow is her satin gown. 

WITH the spice of life is laden her breath. 
And she lifts her starry eyes 
Through a filmy veil that is cold as death, 

In wonder and glad surprise; 
For her Lord, the King of the Year, hath come 
To claim as his bride — Chrysanthemum. 

S. M. D. 

BEAUTIFUL are the leaves 
When the year grows weary and old. 
And winds shake the boughs where the sunlight 
weaves 
Its magic of crimson and gold. 
Chill is the air at breaking of day. 
But the fallen leaves make the wayside gay 
With treasure the trees have thrown away; 
And they hide in the nooks 
Where the wild flowers lie. 
To sleep while the brooks 
Go singing by 
Midst tangled crooks. 

55 



?|alc|>an ©apsf 



THE wild grapes on the wall 
Are purpling beneath the cold breath 
Of the spirit which silently covers all 
With a rime that chills unto death; 
While the bright leaves round them rustling fly 
When wind-waves sweep the blue vault on high. 
Till they drop to earth and quiet lie 

Beside the wall; there their beauty turns 
To umber and gray, 

And wasting burns 
To ashes away 
For the flower-root urns. 

THE alder berries red, 
And the bitter-sweet climbing high 
Over withered shrubs, and the cedar's green head, 

Grow bright as the gay leaves fly 
On wings of the wind, midst silken down 
Which flutters forth from the milkweed's crown, 
And the clematis' plumes of tawny brown; 
Then at close of the day 
When the purple lights 

Have faded away, 
The autumn nights 
Turn all to gray. 

THUS glide the days serene 
Until branches are swept with care, 
And harvests are gathered, and Hallowe'en 
Finds the treetops brown and bare; 



Ilalcpon Bapsi 



But the hours are yet filled with mirth and 

cheer, 
For the sun shines bright, and the stars beam 

clear, 
And golden fruitage rounds out the year; 
While the oak's rich leaves are seen 
Still on the mountain-side 

In their glowing sheen, 
Midst the forests wide 
Of Living green. 

S. M. D. 



ALONG the border of the hill, 
On shrubs with vines a-tangle. 
When bright leaves fall and days are chill, 

I see a feathery spangle 
Of witching bloom, golden as light 
That comes with day from out the night. 

THE brown and mottled shrubs I spy 
Midst pathways rough and stony, 
Are fringed with flowers that frosts defy, 

And filled with capsules bony 
From which the seed with startling snap 
Flies forth, and bursts each witch-nut's cap. 



Hmm ?|a^el 



OHAMAMELIS, value rare 
Hast thou for suffering mortals, 
And even magic to declare 

The treasure at earth's portals; 
Since your forked twigs point out the doors 
To living springs and precious ores I 

THOU bloomest late when woods are sere 
And nuts around are falling, 
When Hallowe'en is drawing near 

With witcheries appalling; 
And more than fairies thou hast power 
To charm my heart this autumn hour. 

PROPHET art thou of life that springs 
From out Death's arms all-glorious; 
Elusive flower, thy golden wings 

Bear thought away victorious 
To Hills where bloom and verdure glow 
With rarer tints than earth-lights know! 

S. M. D. 



ILibing jFlotDerfi 



IF the rare flowers that here we see 
Had in them perpetuity — 
And qualities no more outworn 
Than those by earth and ether bome- 
If this, indeed, were of them true 

58 



Hibing jnotoersi 



Then banks of blossoms we would view 

Always about us on the earth, 

Of fragrant beauty, and lasting worth. 

THEN daffodils, which come and go, 
With golden tints would ever glow; 
And the gay tulips in the light 
Nod ceaselessly from mom till night. 
On mountains high arbutus sweet 
Would nestle always at one's feet; 
And far below within the vale 
Bloom Spring's sweet buds, no longer frail. 

SNOW-WHITE and pink among the leaves, " 
Fair blossoms of the apple trees 
Would then perfume each balmy day 
With their soft breath, as now in May. 
The bellwort and the columbine 
In every breeze would swing and shine; 
And orchids pink grace the deep woods, 
With the dicentra in snowy hoods. 

THEN buttercups and clover red 
Would brightly gleam 'neath trees outspread 
In orchards green, where peach and pear 
Continuous bloom and fruit did bear. 
Then graceful vines were climbing high. 
And drooping low to where violets lie; 
While fern fronds, tall beyond compare. 
Would their fresh verdure changeless wear. 



59 



DAISIES were growing everywhere, 
Roses on roses high in air, 
And stately lilies from overhead 
Bending deep cups, would fragrance shed. 
The golden-rod, the gentian blue. 
The aster with its varied hue, 
And all those flowers we name as dead 
Would then our earth quite overspread. 

BUT are they dead, those blossoms dear — 
The smiles of Earth? No, they are here, 
For nothing beauteous ever dies. 
From out their dust fair forms arise 
To bloom anew year after year 
And fill man's heart with hope and cheer. 
Death and decay mean only life, 
Since Christ hath given Supernal Life. 

L. P. D. 



60 



/ 



